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Why is Daddy Crying?

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Entries in cockblock (4)


For Valentine's Day I'm Giving the Wife...

It’s another awesome Hallmark Holiday that puts dudes on the hot-seat, leaving us cold, sweaty and paranoid as we procrastinate until the bitter end.

We frantically erase our Google search history so the wives don’t catch us ripping off kick-ass ideas. We go to Hallmark and convenient stores and hide behind shelves in the hopes we catch a glimpse of a guaranteed sex-gift idea being bought by another dude.

But this year…it’s different for me.

This year…I did my shopping early and I’ve knocked it out-of-the-park. I just know it.

Want to know what I’m getting her? Just keep it on the down-low.

Here it goes:

Pole Dance/Lap Dance Classes

I want my wife to feel sexy about her womanhood. What would make her feel more complete than to know how to wear next to nothing, trot into a room, and just own her man…nightly.

The Shake Weight

What?! She’s been complaining about her triceps. It’s thoughtful of me damn it!

A Cockblock Shock Collar

You simply place this loving, harmless device around your children’s neck as they nod peacefully off to sleep. On either-side of their doorway are two penny-sized attachments that send an invisible beam across.

When the restless child rises from its slumber to see what all the “commotion” is about, it sends a gentle reminder to the child that it should scutter-on back to its sleepy pad.

The Snazzy Napper

Well, it’s got a single hole…it’s shaped like a bib…and, well…it’s Snazzie!!! You put the rest together.

And to top it all off…when she’s done opening all her amazing gifts and ready to pounce me right then and there…I’m gonna drop the shock-and-awe on her by ripping my shirt off to reveal my chest hair shaved like this:

Happy Valentines Day!



Chilean Hamster Ductwork Rescue 2011

Yesterday morning I went down to the wife’s at-home office in the basement to throw some “we should totally hook-up when both kids are at school today” vibes around. That’s when I heard it.


Me: “What the hell was that?”

Wife: “I don’t know. The furnace has been doing that all morning.”

Me: “Ummm…you know that’s not normal right.”

Wife: “Maybe an animal’s stuck in there, I don’t know.”

I went back up to my at-home office, put the headphones on and kept cranking on work. The thought did cross my mind that maybe the hamster go out….again.

For those who don’t know, the wife has managed to bring into the house a hamster, a fish, a cat, and a dog. Although I blame her publicly, I know deep down that the zoo environment I live in is a direct result of me not being man-enough to just say “no!!!!”

An hour after hitting on the wife I take my headphones off for a call. The call ends and that’s when I hear it.


I stand, grab my cell phone, make the slow walk up to the boy’s room and find this:

Immediately I pic text this picture to the wife in the basement. A minute later we’re holding flash lights and listening to our damn ductwork trying to figure out exactly where the little furry bastard is.

That’s when we found him…in the basement, at the rock-bottom part of the ductwork right next to the filter where it connects to the furnace that has been running all day cause it was -5 outside.

And the wanna-be-rat-bastard was alive!! I mean…here’s the trip this furry guy made from the second story of our house.

He was up on a shelf, fell to a dresser, then to the floor.

Then he crawled his ass into this vent on the second floor of our house.

And fell his way through multiple ductwork chambers to the first floor, then to the basement here.

And there…he was stuck, surrounded by metal, receiving the blunt of air from the furnace, trying like hell to find freedom.

So…the wife and I embarked on an epic journey to save the little bastard despite the fact we’d both be “happier” with one less animal.


I thought I’d get all MacGyver on his ass and use the kids’ DS charger cord wrapped around a measuring cup to scoop his ass up.

FAIL: The measuring cup was too large to fit in the hole. (That’s what she said.)


Drop a large rope into the hole in the hopes the furry bastard would climb to his freedom.

FAIL: He just chewed on the end of it like a douche to try and find materials to make a nest for his new Chilean Hamster Deathtrap Home.

Right about here is where I was being all supportive and stuff to the wifey’s effort and got… “The Look.” Ok…I got half, “The Look”…but it still hurt.


Saving The Chilean Hamster & "The Look" from WhyIsDaddyCrying on Vimeo.



Holy shit…we still have fake Christmas garland sitting right here!! Let’s drop it in as a “Ladder of Hope” for the little bastard to climb!!!

FAIL: I have no idea what in the hell he was doing to it, but there was tons of noise and the garland may now be pregnant.


Drop a small cup filled with peanut butter and carrots into the Chilean Hamster Deathtrap until he climbs in then hoist him up.


Here, take a look!

Chilean Hamster Rescue Mission 2011 from WhyIsDaddyCrying on Vimeo.


Teddy was saved. Although from the repeated falls that little dude made, I’m not quite sure how long he has to live in this world. We’ll be keeping an eye on him.

The wife? She was just glad the entire episode happened while the kids were at school.

Me? Well…how would you feel after spending a long-shot-possible-afternoon-sex-time fishing a damn hamster-out-of-ductwork day?


My House Becomes Police Headquarters

I felt like I turned 80 years old night before last.

Out of the blue it hit me that police scanners these days are streamed live online.

So, being the voyeuristic freak that I am, I decided to tune into my local area police feed.

Every five minutes I’d be lucky if I got a “we’ve got a report of a young male peeing on a bush” kind of call.

So, I decided to go for pay-dirt and listen to the City of Chicago Police Department scanner. MONEY!!!

The wife was interested for 4.3 seconds and then said, “so, can we watch Biggest Loser now?”

And I’m all, “but they just said 15-year-old kids were attacking dogs and the elderly as they walked by. Let’s see what happens!!”

Wife: “You seriously scare me.”

So of course, I can’t help but wonder….what if the daughter were dispatch and the son were the local police around my house? How would it all go down?

Dispatch: “We’ve got a 6-foot, 3-inch tall bearded bastard with a gap tooth walking around the house kicking inanimate objects and randomly breaking into the robot dance.”

Police: “10-4 dispatch, we’ve got a visual on said suspect and he’s also twitching violently and carrying what seems to be a shit beer…a Miller Lite.”

Dispatch: “Approach said suspect easy and treat as semi hostile. Be advised if approached too cautiously he will assume you’re a wounded animal and start to hump your leg vigorously. Although Chief says if he does hump your leg just let it go…he’ll only last 1.3 seconds.”

Police: “10-4 dispatch, he’s already engaged, completed and asleep snoring loudly.”

Dispatch: “We’ve now got reports that said suspect is snoring too loudly and waking neighbors.”

Police: “10-4 Dispatch, we’re applying the breathing strips now and handing the suspect his favorite Mr. Monk-A-Monk stuff animal.”

Later That Night

Dispatch: “We got a call of a 9241 in progress. Apparently there’s a motherly figure in the kitchen preparing pork chops for our dinner.”

Police: “That’s a 10-4 dispatch. I’ve been watching the 9241 in progress for the past 10 minutes and have strategically placed small garbage bags under our places at the dinner table so we can spit the food out when the suspects aren’t looking.”

Even Further Later That Night

Dispatch: “We just got a call that a large box-fan has been placed in the hallway to create a high volume of white noise. Therefore it’s believed two consenting adults are about to make whoopee. Please proceed to cock-block them.”

Police: “That’s a big 10-4 dispatch. I’m currently changing into my undercover jammies and about to implement the 3-prong cock-blocking approach:

1) “Place the dog in their room making them have to disengage to put him back in his crate, hopefully having to take him outside for a potty-break first.

2) “Loudly walk to the bathroom forcing them to stop for a little bit, then bang on their door to ask if mommy’s OK motivating them to have almost motionless sex.

3) “Bang on the door to announce my stomach hurts and that I want my temperature checked causing mommy to give daddy the “just go finish yourself off in the bathroom” look.”

Dispatch: “Well done officer. Well done.”



Sex & The Snuggie

I got a glimpse last night into what my winter will be like. Let me rephrase that…what my sex life will be like this winter.

My wife is sick right now. I fell badly for her because she’s clearly not feeling well. She tries to help around the house, but all I see through my insane, fucked-up way of thinking is her spreading germs all over the house.

Last night I’m hanging out, just finished putting the little bastards to sleep, when it happens. The wifey descends from upstairs and flops down on the other end of the couch wearing the big, blue, stupid, frock looking, Snuggie. Yeah the real Snuggie.

Now…she knows I hate the Snuggie. She knows the first time I saw an ad for the Snuggie I picked up the TV and threw it out the front window. She knows that the very site of the Snuggie makes me want to take a flamethrower to it. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. But what am I going to do? She’s sick, and achy, and clearly wanted to get warm.

Then I suddenly became paralyzed with a sudden formula:

Comfort + Warmth = Snuggie cock-blocking all winter long.

She’s never going to take this thing off again. It will forever be the oversized sheath covering wifey and keeping us from the wonderful world of whoopie-making. It will become one with her. Once the children are tucked nicely in bed, she will shroud this magnificent piece of marketing bullshit around her body making her impenetrable to any and all efforts me and my little fella make towards sexual bliss.

I know, I’re thinking, “well climb in there with her you idiot.” No..for a few reasons...

1) I hate the fucking Snuggie and don’t even want it touching me.

2) Wifey is clausterphobic and would be miserable with her and me in the Snuggie

3) I hate the fucking Snuggie and don’t even want it touching me.

And there’s no such thing as a crotchless Snuggie. There’s no Velcro strap that can be removed and placed back once the deed is done. There’s no flaps up top like women’s breast-feeding bra flaps.

My anger for the Snuggie has now reached new dimensions.

You’re on notice Snuggie. I will fuck you up. You will die. I will watch you burn, Twitter about it, TwitPic the whole thing, blog about it, then burry your ass in the alley where I can drive over your remains every day. You’re dead to me and I’m coming for you…….